Page 15 of Desert Island Duke

Caro scoffed at his blatant attempt to butter her up. She didn’t believe him for a minute—no doubt he would have preferred to be marooned with one of his mistresses, who would have offered him the most basic of human comforts. But her heart still glowed at his praise. It was nice to be considered competent, at least.

“So,” Hayworth said. “Time for bed?”

Chapter 9

“Which side do you prefer?” Hayworth asked cheerfully.

Caro’s heart began to pound. She had no idea which side she preferred, never having shared a bed with anyone—a fact Hayworth must surely know, or at least assume, since she was clearly a lady—but she refused to let him needle her.

“The right,” she said.

His smile widened. “That’s good. Because I prefer the left.”

She glared at him and crossed her arms defensively over her chest. “You do realize that this shelter is the only thing we’ll be sharing tonight, Maximillian Cavendish. I’m not some London trollop you can—” she paused, unsure quite where she’d been going with that sentence.

“—use for bodily warmth?” he supplied with a laugh. “Seduce into a quivering pile of limbs?”

“Something like that,” she muttered.

He lifted both hands up in a gesture of innocence. “I swear, I’ll be the perfect gentleman.”

“Well, good.”

Caro stalked to the rocks and retrieved her dress and petticoats. Both had dried, so she went behind a bush and put her dress back on, then rolled her petticoats up into a bundle to use as a pillow. Her stays were also dry, but she couldn’t face the thought of putting them back on to sleep, even if they would provide an extra layer of protection. She left them hanging on the bush.

When she emerged, Hayworth was already lying in the shelter, looking out, so she removed her boots and crawled in beside him, stockinged feet first.

The two of them lay side by side on their stomachs, supported on their elbows, and looked out at the darkening sea. Their shoulders almost touched.

“It shouldn’t get too cold, even without a fire,” he said. “But if, at any time, you feel the need for extra body heat, you only have to ask.”

Caro gave an amused little snort. “I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

She tucked her petticoat pillow under her head and turned her back to him, but despite her physical exhaustion, her mind refused to calm. She’d shared a tent with her sisters, on occasion, but she’d never slept this close to a man.

In the enclosed space she could smell him—a pleasant mix of salt-clean skin and some indefinable masculine scent that made her toes curl in her stockings. The even sound of his breathing and the various rustlings of the leaves as he tried to make himself comfortable filled her ears and made her very aware of the crowded space.

Some part of him brushed her bottom, and she wriggled away, glad that he wouldn’t be able to see her pink cheeks.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Caro yawned. The floor of the hut was not at all comfortable; she was going to have bruises on her hip and shoulder by the morning. Willing herself to relax, she closed her eyes and had just begun to doze when a loud ‘thump’ nearby made her jolt back awake with a start.

“What was that?” she yelped, her heart racing.

“Falling coconut,” Hayworth muttered, apparently less alarmed than herself. “Told you we shouldn’t build under the palms.”

It was almost fully dark now, but the moon was out, and Caro could make out a bank of clouds above them. With a sudden patter, a barrage of raindrops began to fall, slowly at first, and then in a steady rhythmic hiss all around.

“Oh, wonderful,” Hayworth groaned dryly. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

Caro moved deeper into the shelter, away from the drips that now fell from the open entrance. She waited for more to start falling in through the leafy ‘roof’, but Hayworth must have done a decent job of covering it because no water managed to seep in.

Relieved that at least they would stay relatively dry, she closed her eyes again, oddly soothed by the sound of the rain hitting the leaves and the reassuring male presence next to her. Some primal, base part of her felt infinitely safe with Hayworth at her side. That, in itself, was a troublesome thought, but she was too tired to dissect it.

“Good night, Cavendish,” she murmured.

There was a smile in his voice as he answered. “Good night, Montgomery. Sweet dreams.”

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